The Blue Diamond
by lew daney
Summary: A blue diamond must be found, but Watson is more concerned about Miss Featherstone. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

THE BLUE DIAMOND

It was a warm summer morning that in which I woke to find Holmes sitting by the window reading the newspapers. Breakfast had been served and he was already enjoying a cup of hot coffee.

"Yes. Here it is", he said as he went through the agony columns.

"Here is what?" I said entering the room and selecting a biscuit from the wonderful basket.

Holmes swung round in a start as he learnt of my presence.

"Erm – nothing", he stammered. "Just a little – something which might – erm – bring me something."

"A something which might bring you something?" I laughed.

"Train of thought, Watson", he replied quickly and I didn't interrupt him again until – after I had finished my breakfast – he broke the silence.

"Now that's what I call a beautiful girl", he said looking out the window as he improvised a tune on the fiddle.

"Where?" was my third question that morning.

As he didn't answer I just followed his gaze to the pavement. There, checking the address of our house with a paper in her hand was a slim young girl in a white dress. Her skin was almost as white and her long hair was blonde. At the distance, I could tell that she was indeed very pretty; and even more when all of a sudden she seemed to wave and smile at us. Then she entered the house.

"What was that?" I enquired puzzled.

"Have you anything but questions today?" he asked in his turn.

Presently, we heard the inevitable footsteps on the staircase before Mrs Hudson ushered the girl into the room. At closer range I realised that she was more than beautiful; she was perfect. Her nice figure and sweet face were dwarfed by the charming manner in which she switched her glance from one to the other. I wanted to greet her warmly but I didn't seem to remember what language I spoke.

"Good morning", Holmes hastened to say.

"Good morning", answered the girl; her voice, that of an angel.

"What can we do for you, Miss?"

"I'm looking for Mr Holmes", she explained.

"That would be me", Holmes explained, "and this is my friend Dr Watson."

She bowed as she favoured me with a smile.

"My name is Mary Featherstone", she said addressing Holmes. "I was told that you were very talented and that your methods were unchallenged, so I was hoping you could help me"

Holmes blushed. He was used to quickly wave these compliments away with a polite smile, but this time he seemed to be under Miss Featherstone's charm, not unlike myself.

"I'm sure I'm not that…" he finally began to say.

"But I heard you play from the window", she interrupted.

"You heard me – what?"

"Come on, Mr Holmes", she added tenderly, "I even waved at you."

"Of course!" said Holmes. "The fiddle!"

"One of my favourite songs too."

"Yes, yes, yes", he answered quickly. "It was _The Blizzard_ by Szcoldreh; second movement."

"Well – I'm pretty sure it was the third. I've know Szcoldreh's music for a long time."

"And I'm just as sure it was the second", he replied. "Watson, do you agree?"

I had been a mere spectator until that moment.

"To be honest, the name is only vaguely familiar", I apologised, "but somehow I think it was the third", I invented.

"Dear Miss," said Holmes, "if I could play _The Blizzard'_s third movement, I wouldn't do what I do."

"Why? What do you do?" she enquired innocently.

"That's not important. You wanted to see me then because…?"

"I want to learn how to play the violin like you. I can play the piano already so I know my music theory."

I knew Holmes was never the right man for the complex art of teaching. Yet:

"Absolutely", he said. "If you would sit here in front of me we can start reviewing the basics right away."

I was pleased at the prospect of having Miss Featherstone a regular visitor in our lodgings, and welcomed my friend's decision with a broad smile.

"I hope we won't annoy your friend?" she said.

I was about to dismiss such an idea with a gentle comment, but Holmes had different plans.

"Actually," he said, "he was just about to leave."

He approached the table and started to write on a piece of paper.

"I hope you're still going to the tobacconist, Watson?" he asked. "I wanted to ask you a favour", he added handing me the folded paper and a ten pound note. "Please tell Mr Brown I want five of each", he finished.

I stared indignantly at him for an instant before I put the paper in my trousers' pocket and left – slamming the door.

_What a cheap trick!_

I wandered about until I reached the tobacconist's trade. I had grown calmer on the way. After all, it was true that I was going there and Holmes was probably unaware of my liking of the girl. Impossible! He was always aware of everything. But it was fine, I thought; I would have plenty of chances to see Miss Featherstone again.

As I went inside the store I noticed something strange. I couldn't tell what it was but I felt a bit uneasy. Inside the store there were about four customers. I quietly addressed Mr Brown, handed him Holmes's paper and explained:

"Five of each."

Mr Brown read the paper, looked around with a worried face and finally leaned over the counter and spoke to me hardly above a whisper.

"OK, what's going on?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"This paper", he said.

I took the paper in my hand, unfolded it slowly and read in awe:

_Bring the police_

"Bring the police!" I thought to myself.

I had been the biggest fool. Holmes had sensed danger and counted on my timely help, and was letting him down.

As I ran out of the store I noticed what I hadn't before. Its name was Szcoldreh, the name that Holmes gave the girl as the composer of the song he had been playing. She had pretended to have recognised it, going as far as to suggest that he had the wrong movement. Now that I remembered, Holmes had been improvising. How clumsy of me!

As I entered Scotland Yard I met Inspector Lestrade going out at the same time. I asked him to come with me at once and he said:

"What a coincidence! That's where I was going!"

"How comes?" I enquired.

For an answer he showed me the agony column that Holmes had been reading that morning. One of the entries read:

_Found blue brooch of obvious sentimental value in Oxford Street. Ask for Mr Holmes at 221__B Baker Street._

"That's a typical Holmes trick I reckon", he said.

I explained to him during the travel what had happened in the morning, keeping my views on Miss Featherstone to myself.

When we arrived we found no one in the main room, the fiddle laying flat on the settee. Over the table there was a glass of water, and – more dramatically – another lay broken on the floor.

We hastened to check the bedrooms and to my surprise we found Miss Featherstone asleep on my bed over the covers. On the night table there was a note from Holmes:

_What took you so long?!_

_Watson, would you take care of Miss Featherstone, please?_

_Blue diamond can't wait !_


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

"Is this the girl?" asked Lestrade.

"Certainly", I answered.

"You wouldn't mind watching after her?" he asked, "after all you're the doctor, and it seems like she will be asleep for some time."

I pretended to ponder for an instant.

"I'll try to be helpful", I replied.

"Thank you, doctor. You see – I will take a look at the main room and, eventually, will have to go away. Mr Holmes will apparently be out as well looking for his diamond and – for what you told me – this girl seems to be implicated in this business. Are you sure you can be here for that long?"

"Yes, but – tell me – what am I to do if she wakes up?"

"Don't let her go," he said, "and don't put her wise on what we know."

That was not good news, I thought. I'd be in charge of playing her captor.

"I'll do my best."

Lestrade left my bedroom and for a couple of minutes I heard him wandering about the main room. Soon afterwards he brought me a sample of the water left in the broken glass.

"It's not much."

"That's all I could get", he apologised.

I tried it carefully.

"Yes, she was doped", I explained.

"That's not like Mr Holmes now is it doctor?"

I had to agree it was not. But I hastened to suggest that Holmes might have believed himself in danger. The girl – though as beautiful as they make them – had certainly appeared in our lodgings with a false story and pretending to ignore my friend's profession.

After a silence I enquired about the diamond.

"Well, the Hope Diamond is blue," Lestrade replied, "but it's rather unlike to be the one concerned in this case. I daresay this is more of a private affaire," he said proving to know nothing.

With that he left, having engagements elsewhere.

After five minutes alone with the sleeping Miss Featherstone I had decided that – should she wake up – I was to keep her in the room as a medical precaution. Being a doctor I was satisfied that was the easier way to convince her.

Suddenly, the girl – still fast asleep – rolled over to her right, allowing me to see her face again and slipping her hand under my pillow. At the sight of the latter my heart jumped, but then I remembered: my revolver was away.

For a long time I could only look at her. That incredible girl sleeping in my bed and with her hand under my pillow was a sight of heaven. Three times I checked her pulse on her wrist and her temperature on her forehead.

She sighed the last time… and so did I.

Half an hour later Holmes rushed in. He looked tired and his face was grave.

"Miss Featherstone alright?" he asked.

"Yes, but—"

"This is wicked Watson. I know nothing about The Blue Diamond except that it's apparently worth a lot more that human life—to some people."

"What the devil do you mean?"

"Murder, that's what I mean", he added calmly as he sent quick glances at the sleeping girl.

We sat there silent for a couple of minutes when suddenly there was a knock on the door of the main room. Holmes opened it and a young man—for what I could tell from his voice—came in. I had my door open so I could hear some of the conversation.

"My name is Wood", said the stranger. "I read your advert, sir; you say you found a blue dia—I mean brooch in Oxford Street."

"I did."

"I admire your honesty for advertising it sir, though its value is merely sentimental—you see, it belongs to my sister—Miss Wood, who got it as a gift from my late mother. It's a family relic."

"I see—well you needn't explain the private side of it, Mr Wood. What I want you to do is to describe the gem."

"I understand, and I appreciate you take that precaution, sir. The world is full of crooks nowadays."

Holmes laughed a 'yes',

"Well," the man continued, "besides it being blue, it's about this size," I couldn't tell what size he was indicating, "it has the shape of a crescent with blunt edges, and it's only blue because of the stone inside."

"That's the one," said Holmes, "now where exactly in Oxford Street do you think you – or your sister – might have lost it?"

"Well, according to my sister's account it must have been near Portman Street where a friend of hers has her flat."

"When could this have been?"

The man pondered for a second.

"The night before last," he said finally with a voice that sounded annoyed by my friend's inquisitiveness.

"Very well then, your story is correct," Holmes hastened to say.

The man gave a sigh of relief and his annoyance was clearly gone.

"Shall I have the brooch then?"

"I'm sorry but that will be impossible."

"Why?"

"Because I don't have it."

"What do you mean?!" the man shouted.

"You see, Mr Wood, when I found it mistook it for an actual diamond and I decided to put it in a safe in the bank. Because of my business I have several people in the house and I didn't think it wise to run such a risk. I know you will appreciate my precaution one more time."

"So I do."

"You may come here tomorrow at the same hour."

"Fair enough", the man said politely and a minute afterwards was gone.

Holmes appeared again in my room instantly.

"Quick, Watson, what was in the glass?" he asked before I could put my own questions to him.

"I don't know," I replied, "what did you put in it?"

"I merely switched the glasses, Watson. Apparently Miss Featherstone had come for the diamond as well."

"Is that so?" I asked sadly.

"Absolutely", said Holmes. "She insisted so much on us having glasses of water that I knew she'd make such a move. After the water was brought I gave her a moment or two alone with the glasses. Then I took the precaution of switching them; I only had to put the word diamond on a random phrase and point behind her to have a chance."

"That was wise."

"I also made sure of being the one holding the fiddle by the time she faded", he said.

"Is that all you know about the matter?" I asked. "You mentioned murder."

"I'll tell you more later. Now I want you to remain here with Miss Featherstone, can you do that?"

"Why—of course!" I answered.

"Thank you, Watson. Now I have to get going."

"Holmes," I said, "you're not giving that man the diamond, are you?"

"Are you so naïve as to think I actually have it?" he said. "I was only collecting information; Mr Wood was kind enough to give me some", he added and left.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

I found myself alone with the girl again, but this time I began to grow a bit anxious and got quickly bored. I thought of fetching the newspaper to have at least something to read, thus setting my mind away from the case—and Miss Featherstone's beauty. I searched the main room without finding it. I went into Holmes' room hoping that he had left it there. His room was a complete mess: wads of paper everywhere, open books laying on the table, the bed and the floor; clothes all about, except in the wardrobe (which was wide open and clearly undusted). No wonder he had brought the girl to my room.

As I searched about for the paper, I heard the girl yawn and rushed back to my room. She hadn't opened her eyes yet, but was on the process of stretching and tossing to either side. Presently, she started to blink rapidly until I felt her gaze fixed on my face with such an expression as if she didn't know where she was.

"Miss Featherstone", I said, realising for the first time her eyes were gray. "Are you alright?"

She remained silent for a spell. "Yes", she said at last with a smile, and rubbing her still drowsy eyes. "Dr Watson, right?"

"Yes", I replied. "Are you sure you're OK? Mr Holmes said you fainted."

Only then she seemed to understand what was really happening. If she had really poured something on Holmes' glass as my friend reported, the new colour of her face revealed the due concern.

"He must have—" she began, but quickly checked herself.

"Yes? He must have…?" I encouraged her, knowing that if I was to take her off her guard it was just too late.

She went on to unconvincingly explain that Holmes must have done this and said that and – finally – felt disappointed.

"He must have taken me to his own room", she tried to guess.

"This room is actually mine."

"Oh," she said, "then I'm invading your space."

"That's the least important matter right now", I smiled. "I'm a doctor, remember? I'm going to take care of you until you get better, and you can stay here in the meantime." I looked at my watch; it wanted twenty minutes to one. "I'm going to bring you lunch."

She squeezed my hand in appreciation, and five full minutes passed before I finally went for the food.

After she finished her meal and the tray with the dishes was away, I asked her if she wanted to be alone for a while. She had become distant and reluctant to speak; she was probably pondering what to do next and addressing her problem in her mind for the first time.

For a moment she seemed undecided until finally she said:

"No. Please stay."

I sat by her side again. There was an obvious connection between us, a sort of confidence which reason is incapable of accounting for.

"Mr Watson—" she began, "I have no idea who Szcoldreh is."

"The tobacconist", I explained.

"Oh, Mr Holmes set me a trap."

"Well, you said you recognised the tune he was playing."

"Yes, I made it all up", she confessed. "Truth is, Mr Watson, that I came here for a diamond—"

"A diamond?" I asked faking absent-mindedness.

"Yes", she said. "I'll tell you why."

It seemed that she was going to be honest with me, which made me feel good. Between Holmes and I, it was clear who her favourite was. She had been all honesty and kindness with me whilst she had tried to dope Holmes.

"That diamond," she began to say, "was trusted to my father's care by a man called Edward Wood. What my father had to do was to have the diamond appraised by three different jewelers in London. After that, he was to return it and forward the jewelers' report to Mr Wood."

"Why did your father undertake such a task?"

"He is in Mr Wood's employment; he usually takes care of this sort of things. The problem is that the night before last, my father was attacked as he was leaving our house in Oxford Street, and the diamond has been lost ever since."

"I see", I said. "Is this diamond property of Mr Wood?"

"No, he's just a trader," she said shedding a couple of tears, "and my dad is going to have serious problems because of this."

I tried to calm her down and offered her a tissue.

"Mr Wood," she continued, "was going to apply for a loan to purchase the diamond. As for my dad, he could not afford a sliver of it."

She wept for some moments until she felt better and forced a smile.

"And where's your father now?" I asked.

"At the hospital; he hasn't recovered yet. He is not in good condition, and the only words we have heard from him were 'the diamond', he repeated them several times. That's how I know he lost it, otherwise why was he attacked?"

"Of course."

"But this morning, as I read the newspaper I saw Mr Holmes' advert on the agony columns and I thought that maybe in the struggle the diamond might have fallen somewhere out of sight, and then have been found again by Mr Holmes in the daylight."

"But why didn't you tell him the truth? I'm sure he would have been sympathetic with your father."

"That was a huge mistake. Somehow I thought I could get it myself without him noticing. You see—my main objective was that Mr Wood remained unaware of the stone's disappearance. This could really bring my poor dad a lot of trouble."

"But if he was attacked then he's not to blame."

"Still, he must've been more careful. Mr Wood had warned him to take every necessary precaution for the jewel's safety."

I was thinking rapidly. It was highly likely that Holmes' mention of murder had referred to the poor girl's father. I could only hope I was wrong, but if that was the case I decided I was to be the one to tell her the truth. Anyhow, it was still too early to jump into any conclusions. What called my attention was the mention of Mr Wood in her story. Was he the same Mr Wood that visited Holmes that morning? It was only natural that he wanted to get the diamond back, but why had he come with a story full of lies as well?

Miss Featherstone had been silent until that point.

"He doesn't have it, does he?" she said.

"What?"

"The diamond, of course."

"Ah—well, I strongly doubt it", I explained. "But don't worry, he will get it back. Though it would've been a lot easier if you had told him the truth in the first place."

Suddenly, I turned my head to the night table and noticed the newspaper had been there all the time. I quickly found a small account on the attack on George Featherstone, aged fifty-one, employed by Edward Wood, the notable gem trader. No mention whatsoever of a diamond being stolen.

Some minutes later, Holmes arrived displaying the happiest of moods.

"Miss Featherstone, you're finally awake!" he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thanks to Mr Watson", she said looking at me.

"Very good, then. I'm happy to learn that I was not to die, had I not—"

"I'm very sorry about that, Mr Holmes. Mr Watson will surely explain to you why I took such a step."

"I already know", he explained. "Not that I agree with your proceedings, though."

"Certainly", she said.

Holmes went to the main room and came back with the fiddle in his hands.

"Now," he said, "as a mean of apology, would you please Mr Watson and me with a share of your talent?" he added handing her the violin.

"Mr Holmes! How did you know?" she seemed surprised.

"It was clear to me from the beginning that you were fairly acquainted with the fiddle and that you were merely playing the clumsy beginner. The way you held it before I told you how to do it said as much. And then, you seemed determined to make it sound bad, to the point of stopping when the notes came smoothly."

"That's true," she said, "I have a lot of experience."

"I bet you could play _The Blizzard'_s third movement."

She laughed, and for the next ten minutes we enjoyed her performance of some of my favourite tunes. She and I had a lot in common.

After she had finished, I exchanged a couple of words with Holmes in the sitting room. He ordered a meal and I sat by the window.

"So, have you found anything?" I asked.

"Yes", he said.

"And are you going to explain anything to me?"

"Not now, Watson; I'm starving. Besides, tomorrow's the big day", he said dryly and I went back to Miss Featherstone.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Once back in my room I found the girl standing and – apparently – ready to go. I offered to take her home and she seemed pleased with the idea. Fortunately, Holmes had no objection on her leaving, and all he requested was that she should come again tomorrow after lunch. Then, as we were going out, he began with a couple of jokes.

"I'll arrange for Mrs Hudson to get us some water", he said laughing.

We all laughed with him and, when I was about to close the door and Miss Featherstone was already out, he added:

"We'll play: _Find the doped glass_."

"Oh, shut up Holmes!!" I shouted without the girl noticing and slamming the door.

During the drive I didn't refer at all to the case of the blue diamond, except to remind her of Holmes' request to pay us a second visit the following day. The rest of the conversation drifted between classical music and war wounds. We knew each other for only a couple of hours and yet we seemed to enjoy each other's company as old friend do. Before I had left her she had agreed to go with me to the theatre after Holmes disposed of us.

Once back at Baker Street I found Lestrade and my friend discussing the matter at hand.

"In the fireplace!" Holmes was saying.

"Yes," replied Lestrade, "and you will agree with me that this weather hardly justifies lighting it."

"Absolutely", said my friend. "Watson, remember when I mentioned murder?"

"Naturally", I answered.

"Well, happens that Mr Wood is dead", Holmes explained. "Anyway, that much I already knew. The awful part of the story is that he burnt to death in his own room's fireplace."

"Oh!" I was amazed.

"You understand that – under that circumstances – suicide and accident are completely discarded."

"I see," I agreed, "though I don't believe it would be too easy to hold someone in the fire either. Maybe the murderer blocked Mr Wood's way out of the fireplace by placing some piece of furniture as a barricade."

"That sounds possible, but in that case the police would have found that piece of furniture you mention, burnt on one side—but they didn't."

"Well, what do you suggest then?"

"You don't see it?"

"Doped", I said realising that was the only possibility.

"Exactly", Holmes said. "And it must have been a rather strong drug. By the way, was Miss Featherstone fast asleep when you found her?"

"Yes, she took a lot of waking up."

"It must have been the same drug", he said.

"Why, that's scary!" I yelled. I was deeply concerned about this bit of news. Miss Featherstone had been drugged in the same way Mr Wood had been. But, who had doped her again? Herself! It was only then that I understood what Holmes had been trying to suggest all along. The two detectives were looking as if waiting for me to process the information.

"But," I began to say, "she couldn't have done it. She wouldn't be capable of murder."

"You're biased, I'm afraid."

I blushed, for I was guilty.

"Still, she gave me a very good reason for coming here for the diamond."

"Yes, yes, Watson. I know all about it. Now I've not made up my mind yet as to what exactly happened to Mr Wood. That's precisely what I want to find out today."

Lestrade reminded us of his presence by saying:

"We are going to the dead man's house now, doctor, in case you want to join us?"

Five minutes later we were on our way to Oxford Street, were Mr Wood had lived his last days. His house was almost in the corner of Regent Street and was one of the oldest around. Only two of its rooms called Holmes' attention during our visit, the first of them being Mr Wood's bedroom.

The body had been removed, but Lestrade explained all he knew.

"We were only satisfied it was Mr Wood after his bones were analysed", he explained. "Otherwise it would've been impossible to tell who it was."

"For how long did he burn?" I asked.

"All night. Only this morning his nephew found him dead and called us. The smell wasn't what I would call—"

"You needn't explain", I said.

Holmes checked the furniture.

"No signs of fire", he reported. "Somehow I expected the police had missed something", he said and Lestrade did not look pleased.

I looked at the night table. There was an empty bottle of whisky and a half full glass beside it, and I hastened to suggest that Mr Wood might have been drunk instead of doped.

"That's just a plant, Watson", said Holmes. "And if Mr Wood had been drunk enough to be unable to step out of the fireplace, it's hardly unlikely that he could have walked across the whole room."

I looked at the table with the bottle and then at the fireplace. The distance was at least twelve yards, and Holmes was probably right.

Afterwards we went into Mr Featherstone's room. It was very small and there was apparently nothing worth noticing in it. However, in the bathroom Holmes made a curious discovery.

"Look", he said, pointing at the wash-hand basin. We noticed it was stained, and the stains included many different colours.

"What does this mean?" Lestrade asked. "It looks as if someone had poured his watercolours in here."

"Of course!" said Holmes realising something on his own. He ran out of the house and we never saw him come back.

Puzzled as we were, Lestrade was kind enough to tell me a couple of things I had missed during my time with Miss Featherstone. It happened that Mr Wood's nephew – the gentleman who had visited Holmes – lived with his uncle and had a room on the first floor. He claimed he knew nothing about the diamond until his uncle told him of the attack on Mr Featherstone and urged him to find it before the owner was told of its disappearance. According to him, his uncle had given him a description of the jewel, which he never saw. His uncle had last seen the diamond at the front door of his very house, before Featherstone had taken it away.

It's interesting to note that Wood's nephew still believed that Holmes had the jewel, and the next day he appeared in our lodgings anxious to have it back.

"My uncle's name is at stake", he said.

But Holmes was grave and for a minute or so said nothing. Then he explained how Mr Wood had been murdered. He hadn't been doped when he got in the burning fireplace, he said to my relief. He hadn't been drunk either; neither had he been asleep, nor unconscious. He had been dead; that was the obvious explanation. Stabbed. After his body had burnt it was impossible to spot the wounds.

As for the diamond, Holmes was convinced that Wood's nephew knew all about it. The fact that he had described it to every detail accounted for it.

"I told you my uncle gave me a description of it!" the man shouted.

"That's not true", said Holmes calmly. "If he had done so, he would have described this", he added holding a strange looking stone, the size of a fist, and the shape of the moon.

After a while, Lestrade – who was present then – said:

"Does anyone else see just an Easter-egg?"

"That looks nothing like the diamond!" complained Wood.

"That's right", said Holmes. "Your uncle and Mr Featherstone took the extreme precaution of painting it", he added, the multi-coloured stone still aloft in his hand. "And it worked, because you didn't find after your attack on Mr Featherstone. He had just the time to throw it away; I found it inside a rubbish bin, one that had been clearly searched. Your uncle knew that you were guilty of the attack – being the only one who knew about the diamond beside himself – and threatened you with prosecution. After that, you killed him.

Mr Wood initially refused the charges as he was taken away, but presently he yielded.

One hour after these events, the three of us were discussing the stone.

"I still don't understand why would anyone paint a diamond?" Lestrade asked.

"It's surely damaged now", I agreed.

Holmes took the stone in his hand and started to explain.

"It's actually not all diamond. Watson, you heard Wood's description, remember? It's only blue because of the stone inside. The outer layers are made of crystal prisms, and the reason for attaching prisms to a diamond is that they deflect the light. And with properly arranged layers you can do wonders", he said, and all the time he had been rubbing some chemicals to the stone with a small cloth.

Eventually, the jewel was clean again and we could see the blue stone inside the prisms.

"That's wonderful!" I said.

"That's nothing", Holmes corrected. Then he searched it till he found the prisms joint. He pressed a sharp blade against the stone and hammered it strongly until he pierced the outer crystals.

"I hope you're not superstitious", he said when he was done. Then he opened the jewel as if it were an egg and took the small diamond from the inside. Lestrade and I looked at each other in amazement for several minutes as Holmes showed us the gem. It was red!

"Blast the prisms!" I shouted. "That is unbelievable!"

"That's not it", Holmes added smiling, and I wondered what was coming next. "This—is the Fire Crescent."

"What!!!!!" Lestrade and I screamed at the same time, jumping out of our seats.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5: THE FIRE CRESCENT

Two weeks after Holmes had found the diamond, and twenty minutes after I had dropped Miss Featherstone at her house following our third visit to the theatre, I found myself staring at one of the massive shelves of what was know by then as the 'Public Record'. A fairly large building, the right wing of which was devoted to historical accounts collected by the innumerable pioneers our country had given to the world.

The shelf that interested me was the one displaying the letter 'P'. After a couple of minutes I found what I was looking for: Sir Phillips' excursions across Norway. Many books bore a name compatible with the subject, but only one of them included the tale of the Fire Crescent. It must have been about twenty-five years ago that his book had been published, causing a great hype about the cursed diamond in England, even greater than in the very collieries in Norway.

I took the book and borrowed it for a week. When I got home I found Holmes sitting straight on the settee and complaining about his neck and shoulders.

"Did you get the cream, Watson?" he asked.

"I told you, I still have a full flask."

He and Lestrade had just come back from a case which had taken them all the way to South-America. Their whereabouts included Brazilian beaches most of all, the result being painful sunburn on their faces, necks and shoulders. I gave him a flask of cream for the pain and showed him the book.

"That's over Watson. Don't tell me you believe in those tales?"

"Well… now that I saw the jewel's gleam and am a cursed man, I'd like to know a bit more about it."

"I cannot believe you pay attention to what an explorer with a broken leg has to say", he said sarcastically.

Indifferent to his remarks, I opened the book and my mind drifted on Sir Phillips' narrative, an extract of which I include next:

THE CURSE OF THE FIRE CRESCENT – SIR HENRY PHILLIPS

"My last travel to Norway has not been a very happy one, as the reader will soon learn, and yet it has got me acquainted with an old legend, which has apparently not surfaced until now.

"My main intention this time in Norway was to explore the ancient icy collieries located towards the east of Oslo. Once there, my attention was strongly attracted by what seemed to be unreachable caves up in the mountains. My curiosity grew higher and higher each passing day, until I decided to give them a try.

"My crew and I were provided with the best climbing equipment available, and I – being an old man – was granted the possibility of being lifted once accessibility was confirmed. Enthusiastic as I was, I declined any help and went along with the rest of the men. Unfortunately, this proved to be a bad idea as I fell five yards down to the ground, my right leg breaking and the search being cancelled.

"When I woke up at hospital, all hopes of inspecting the mysterious unreachable caves were gone, yet my curiosity remained. A local colleague then explained to me that the caves were believed to have been used by Vikings, and that if I was to find out anything about them, I was to review their accounts.

"For days and weeks I read everything Viking-related I put my hands on, without finding anything on the subject of the caves. Eventually I found myself back in England, my hopes of unearthing their secret gone. A year and a half passed before I got a letter from my Norwegian colleague, suggesting that I should read the story of an African man named Vilos who had visited the zone about a thousand years ago and had written a small manuscript called 'The Fire Crescent'.

"Vilos' description of the caves was rich enough to persuade me that they were exactly the same ones I had seen on my visit to Norway, the only difference being that they were easily accessible back then. According to him, they had been used by the Vikings as hideouts at times of war. They were all artificially made and their number was constantly growing. Somewhere near the year 1000, one of the new caves became the cause of a murderous dispute between two Viking leaders. A blue diamond shone furiously behind the thick ice layers of one of the walls and the argument was either leave it there or take it. Eventually an agreement was reached and the cave was abandoned.

"However, this agreement was quickly broken by one of the rival bands, which spent most of the night trying to get the jewel. But luck was not on their side as the leader of the other band, Lifsey (the most villainous man that ever existed, according to Vilos), found their corpses the next day. Apparently they had frozen to death, reported Lifsey, as there were remains of a fire which had clearly not been enough to keep the men warm.

"Nevertheless, he took the diamond with him and a couple of days later, he and his men sailed away towards the west. The journey was not a safe one; a huge storm was waiting for them near Scotland and soon Lifsey gave the order to return home, but it was too late and a lighting hit their ship, the sails catching fire.

"Luckily – or rather unluckily – Vilos' ship was about and, in spite of putting his and his men's lives in danger, he decided to go to the rescue. He approached Lifsey's vessel from behind to avoid the fire, and a wide wooden bridge was improvised between the ships. Lifsey was the first to board Vilos' ship and once at safety, dropped the bridge overboard leaving his own men to choose between burning and drowning.

"Vilos' seven-men crew was quickly murdered and, had it not been for Lifsey's need for help, Vilos would have followed a similar fate. For several weeks the men sailed, Lifsey agreeing to go to Africa. However, one day Vilos woke up to find his own ship's sails ablaze, and Lifsey gone in the only emergency boat available. His exact location he didn't know, but it's believed that he was somewhere near the Spanish coast. Land was visible from Vilos' ship and he quickly dived and swam to the shore.

"For three days he searched the coast in order to find Lifsey and avenge the death of his comrades, but without any luck. The fourth day he found the emergency boat empty floating near the coast. He tried to take it out of the sea, but the rocks made his task impossible. Suddenly, while he was looking for a clear zone, he saw Lifsey's body. It was the most horrific sight he eyes had ever caught.

"In his rush to escape from Vilos, Lifsey had left the boat near the shore and had made his way to the land through the rocks. Unluckily, his right foot had got stuck fast and he had been unable to break free. It was clear enough for Vilos that the cause of his death had not been starvation nor thirst. The sun was shining right on top rising the temperature during the day in the Spanish coast above the level any human could bear. The latter fact, plus the furious red color of Lifsey's skin told that he had insolated to death. A horrible death for a horrible man.

Vilos had talked during endless nights to Lifsey enough to learn the basic about his life, and so he decided to take the body back to Norway. Once there he found the gem in one of his pockets and chose to conceal it. The jewel was unusual for its blinding red glare and its moon-shape. He had heard something about the stolen diamond and decided that the best course of action was to return it to where it had come from. As he reached the abandoned cave he felt his leg catch fire; according to him, the fire was spontaneous and he could never account for it. Inside the cave he didn't find the corpses of Lifsey's rival band as he expected, just their ashes.

Bearing an agonic pain, he spotted the hole from where the jewel had obviously been dug out. He dropped the stone and it slowly slid down to its original position. As he did so he noticed with amazement that from behind the thick layers of ice the mysterious gem looked blue. It looked as beautiful and sublime as the red version looked devilish. He felt a strange calmness of his soul at the sight of this. When he woke up the next day he discovered his leg healed with no signs of burn.

His story was never believed while he lived. However, the tale of the beautiful blue diamond was quickly replaced by that of the cursed red stone named 'The Fire Crescent' which granted nothing else but death by burning someway or the other. The access to the caves was destroyed, and the stone was initially not even described as the diamond it was."

That was the story of the Fire Crescent, which behind the ice or the crystal prisms looked blue.

The collieries in Norway had been recently been reopened and Holmes had guessed that the stone had been once again taken.

"I agree with you that the story is absolutely childish", I said.

"And yet, Mr Wood took the same precaution as Vilos", said Holmes. "He wanted to see it blue, not red."

"But it didn't work for him."

"Remember that I explained to you that he had been stabbed before being left in the fireplace, so technically he never burnt."

"You're right", I said.

"Anyhow, it's ludicrous to give the story any credit. Now would you please help me put more cream in the back of my neck?" he asked as he carefully stretched his aching back.

I pondered for a second. Everyone who had seen the Fire Crescent had either been burnt or caught fire except for me. Unless the one ablaze in my heart counted?

THE END

_**NOTE**__: I apologise for taking so long to update. I want to thank to those of you who had read and reviewed the story, it means a lot. This story was inspired by The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins, a must read. I also tried to add a bit of a background story so typical of Holmesian novels. Cheers!_


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